


Something Clever

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: Martin gets sick. Douglas does his best to fix it.





	Something Clever

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to take a break from Good Omens and for no other reason but I hope it is enjoyable to read nonetheless.

“Exactly how long do you think Martin’s going to stick around if you keep working him this hard and he can’t afford to pay rent or feed himself?” Douglas asked, leaning against the doorframe of Carolyn’s mess of an office in the shabby little building where MJN’s paperwork and equipment were stored. She glanced up at him for barely a moment before returning to scribbling away at whatever she was working on.

“What’s he been telling you?” She asked without looking up.

“Oh, nothing that I don’t consider horrendously funny.” Douglas drawled and stepped further into the office. “But as comical as it is that our beloved captain agreed to work for you for free, I can’t help but think it may, possibly, have been a shortsighted agreement on both sides.”

Carolyn let out a put-upon little sigh and leaned back from her desk to fix Douglas with a baleful look, the effect of which was somewhat ruined by long exposure and the reading glasses she had pushed up her nose while she worked. “Obviously Martin _is_ able to pay his rent and feed himself or he wouldn’t have accepted.”

“And you think that’s the end of that, do you?” Douglas asked, taking a small amount of comfort in the way Carolyn bristled.

“Why shouldn’t it be? He enjoys coming to work and god knows it’ll be easier for him to find a paying job as a pilot with some experience under his belt.”

“Well, yes, if he ever works up the motivation to leave.” Douglas knew Martin and he knew he would tolerate a very great deal of ill treatment before stopping to consider whether it was actually warranted— it was part of what made it so delightfully easy to tease him. But if he got fed up and left they’d all be in hot water, and he was just about to say something to that effect when Carolyn shuffled her paperwork, took off her glasses, and stood up.

“I’m not sure what your angle is here, you know I can’t afford to pay you both.” She picked up her bag from beside the desk and ruffled through it. “Unless you are offering to take a pay cut and give it to Martin—”

“I’m barely scraping by as it is since you cracked down on my international business dealings.” This was not strictly true, but Douglas was holding out hope that he could wrest back the upper hand in this conversation. This conversation which was very much about reminding Carolyn that her employees could only tolerate so much, and _not_ about Douglas being concerned on Martin's behalf. 

“Surely you can put the time and energy you dedicated to your little smuggling operation into figuring out how to help Martin, if it’s so important to you.” Carolyn was now pulling on her coat from the hook by the door and gesturing for Douglas to back out of the office so she could lock it up.

Douglas crossed his arms. “That’s not—.” He started, but Carolyn wasn’t listening, was jangling through her key-ring in front of the office door, and Douglas kicked himself internally.

“Are you going to admit you’ve lost this argument or do you mean to follow me out to my car?” Carolyn snapped.

Douglas uncrossed his arms and sighed. “See you tomorrow, Carolyn.”

“Good night, Douglas.” She said firmly, then softened very slightly. “Whatever happened with Martin today, I’m sure if he was genuinely struggling, he’d talk to me himself.”

Douglas blinked as she strode past him and out of the little building and towards her car, feeling very wrong-footed. He was much less sure, himself, because nothing had actually happened that would register to Martin and his damnable pride as something worth talking to Carolyn about.

They’d been in the airport in San Francisco, waiting for Arthur before heading out to GERTI, and Douglas had suggested they have some breakfast. Martin had looked delighted for a moment, and then his face had fallen and he’d shaken his head.

“I’ll have coffee on the plane.”

“It’s nearly twelve hours back to Fitton.” Douglas said, raising an eyebrow. “And, need I remind you, I won the cheese tray for the remainder of the week. You won’t get anything to eat besides whatever awful thing Arthur cooks up for this flight if you don’t have something now.”

An expression of loss twitched across Martin’s face before he smoothed it out again. “I know.” He shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

Douglas looked him over, slumped in the hard plastic airport seat, and cleared his throat. “Well, _I_ won’t be. _I’m_ going to get breakfast. You’re welcome to come with me or you’re welcome to stay here and wait for Arthur.” He stood up and watched Martin give him a look that was strangely longing. “I’ll buy.” Martin’s expression cleared and he grabbed his things as he stood up as well. Something settled, heavy and concerned, in Douglas’s chest as they made their way to one of the airport restaurants.

Whether Martin genuinely needed to starve himself on flights to make ends meet or not wasn’t information Douglas was privy to, but watching him prepare to turn down food he clearly wanted because he had to pay for it made some long-dormant protective instinct in Douglas roar to life again, to his very great annoyance. Douglas wasn’t good at taking care of people. It was, in fact, the complaint his first wife had levelled against him when she’d filed for divorce. That he didn’t have a single nurturing bone in his body, and that both she and their daughter suffered for it.

So it made sense that the solution Douglas came up with, after watching Martin eat eggs, sausages, and two stacks of American pancakes like he wasn’t sure when he would next have a meal (and then trying and failing to communicate to Carolyn when they returned to Fitton that he was worried without stating outright that he was worried) was to attempt to bypass any confrontation or discussion with the captain by tricking him into letting Douglas give him food.

Douglas brought himself lunch on their next flight, despite the fact it wasn’t long enough to warrant a meal, and he watched Martin shoot periodic glances at it as he ate half a sandwich. Then he let Martin win a word game so he could give him the other half. He tried not to examine too closely the warm glow watching Martin eat gave him.

On their next stopover he insisted on taking both Martin and Arthur for dinner, claiming he knew a good spot from his years with Air England. Carolyn was, thankfully, absent, staying in a more upscale hotel across the city, and thus couldn’t level one of her penetrating looks at him, and he was free to encourage Martin to order whatever he liked in peace. He watched the captain deliberate on dessert before Arthur talked him into it, and buying dessert for Arthur as well was a small price to pay for seeing Martin enjoy a full meal and a piece of cake afterwards.

Douglas liked to cook, and he liked to eat, and he lived alone, so there was nothing particularly odd about him bringing in leftovers on the days they were on standby. And if teasing Martin about the number of times he got up to look in the little fridge in the office got him to actually eating Douglas’s cooking, well. That was perfectly fine.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but after several weeks of this, Douglas couldn’t help but imagine Martin looked rather less drawn and miserable than he ordinarily did. He looked… well, he still looked like he could use a good night’s rest and a week off, but without the concern that a good stiff wind might knock him over. The warm little something in Douglas’s chest grew into an ember, and redoubling making fun of Martin did very little to smother it.

And then Martin got sick.

They were scheduled to fly to take a couple to Athens for their wedding anniversary, but Martin didn’t show up for the pre-flight checks. It was a cold and dreary sort of day, which of course did nothing to dampen Arthur’s relentless enthusiasm towards the couple and the world at large. He stuck his head into the flight deck and grinned cheerily at Douglas, who nodded back.

“Mum’s asked me to ask you if you’ve heard from Skip this morning.”

“Why?” Douglas sat up a little straighter in the first officer’s seat and pulled out his phone even as he stared at Arthur. “Isn’t he out there doing the walk-around?”

“No, he isn’t.” Arthur worried at his lip. “Mum says he hasn’t shown up for work this morning.”

Douglas was up and out of the flight deck before Arthur could finish his sentence. He strode through the length of GERTI and back out onto the tarmac, feeling the eyes of the couple on their way to Greece as he went. He could hear Arthur reassuring them that everything was fine, nothing was wrong with the plane, the pilot would be back, as he hurried through the grey drizzle into Carolyn’s office.

“Not been in touch with Martin, then?” She asked him over the rim of her coffee, looking tense and worried.

“No, I haven’t.” Douglas said, pushing his hair back from his forehead where it had fallen as he’d hurried across the airfield. “Have you called him? It’s not like Martin to miss—”

“I have, he didn’t pick up. Would you—”

“Yes, I’ll go check on him.” Douglas was already pulling on his coat. “And Carolyn?”

“Yes?”

Douglas opened his mouth to say something very like _I told you_ so but changed his mind at the very last moment. A row with Carolyn was the last thing he wanted to deal with. “Best to tell the honeymooners there’s going to be a delay, I think.”

“Ah yes, of course, however would I have known to do that if you hadn’t reminded me.” Carolyn snapped. Douglas gave a half-heartedly sarcastic salute as he hurried out of the office and to his car.

Martin’s shabby little flat on the top floor of the student house depressed Douglas just as much as it had the last time he’d been here, helping Martin back up to his rooms after he’d twisted his ankle. He tried not to look at the chipping paint around the doorframe as he knocked.

After nearly a minute the door opened, and Martin, bleary-eyed and looking very ill, stood there blinking at him.

“Douglas?”

Douglas looked him up and down, in his too-large pajamas with his curly hair sticking up every which way, all but holding himself up on the door, and cleared his throat.

“You look terrible, Martin.”

The ghost of a smile flickered over Martin’s face. “Hello to you, too.”

“Carolyn sent me to check up on you.” Douglas said, frowning at the way his tone had gone pinched and anxious.

A look of horror and shame bloomed in Martin’s cheeks, red under his ginger hair, and he shook his head, backing into the flat and making to turn away. “Mr. and Mrs. Heid, I’m sorry, I forgot we had a job today which I never do but—”

“Martin.” Douglas caught him by the shoulders. “It’s alright. You’ve clearly been ill.”

Martin made to tug himself out of Douglas’s grip, and Douglas let him go, watched him try to wander into the bedroom before he changed his mind and sank down onto the futon in a heap of limbs. He rested his head on the arm, cheek pressed into the aged fabric, closing his eyes. Douglas felt the sudden powerful urge to cross the room and brush his hair back from his forehead, which he quickly pushed down.

“Have you got a temperature? Been monitoring your fluid intake?” Douglas asked instead, and Martin cracked one eye open to give him a searching look.

“It was 39 last I checked. And I had some tea… what time is it?”

“Nearly nine.”

“Oh.” Martin closed his eyes again. “Had some tea around six, I think.”

“I’ll make you some more.” Douglas went to rummage through Martin’s cupboards, which were very sparsely stocked. He felt a renewed relief he’d been making an effort to make sure Martin ate in the last weeks.

Martin cleared his throat awkwardly, but made no move to get up from the futon. “You should get back to GERTI, Carolyn will be furious if—”

“Carolyn will delay the flight long enough for me to make you tea.” Douglas snapped, setting water on to boil and opening the fridge, which was also rather sad and bare. There was no milk, at any rate. “And soup, judging by the state of you.”

“I haven’t got things for soup.” Martin said with a sulk in his voice, and Douglas glanced at him as he spooned sugar into a mug.

“Ah, but you see, sir, I _do_ have things for soup.” He responded airily, and Martin glared at him as he carried the tea across the room and handed it to the Martin-shaped-lump now huddled against one arm of the futon and wrapped in the blanket he’d pulled from the back.

“So you’re going to delay the flight today so you can go home, make me soup, and come back to bring it to me?”

“Something like that.”

Martin opened his mouth to object. “Douglas—”

“Martin.” Douglas said, very calmly, watching the way Martin’s fingers were winding around the warm mug as he shivered slightly under the blanket. “Let me look after you, please.”

Martin closed his mouth. He took a careful drink of the tea. Then, after several long moments, he nodded. “I ought to call Carolyn and apologize, at the very least.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Douglas said.

“I really think—”

“Martin, be quiet.”

Douglas called Carolyn as he made his way back out of Martin’s building and to his car.

“How is Martin? Is he fit to fly?” Carolyn asked in a brisk tone as soon as she picked up.

“He’s got a fever and can barely stand, so, no, I think not.” Douglas responded. “I won’t be back today.”

“Oh? And who am I meant to call to take this couple to Greece?” Carolyn snapped. “If you’re worried about Martin I can stop in to check on him while you’re flying.”

Douglas sighed as he got into his car, running through a mental grocery list as he reversed out of his parking spot and flicked on the windscreen wipers. “Or you could reschedule or cancel them.”

“ _Or_ you could come to work, do the job I pay you to do with a minimum of fuss, and be back home late tonight. It’s four hours there and four hours back.”

Douglas sighed, rubbing at his eyes. Everything in him rebelled at the idea of leaving Martin home alone when he looked so poorly, especially given that MJN’s less-than-reliable _everything_ meant there was a not-insignificant possibility it would be much longer than four hours there and four hours back. For a moment he considered telling Carolyn to stuff it and hanging up, but that would help no one.

“Carolyn, this seems an awful time to resort to begging.”

There was silence on the phone for a moment, and Douglas stopped at an intersection and drummed his fingers on the wheel.

Carolyn’s tone was more forgiving when she spoke again. “Alright. I’ll be by with Arthur in a few hours to check up on Martin, as well.”

“Thank you.” Douglas hung up. Some of the pressure that had formed in his chest the moment Arthur had come onto the flight deck half an hour ago finally released a little, and he sighed.

When Douglas elbowed his way back into Martin’s flat, arms full of groceries and cookware for soup, it was to find Martin stretched out on the futon, blanket wrapped more firmly around himself, dead asleep. His mug of tea was empty on the floor beside him, and Douglas took it over to the sink as quietly as he could before he started putting things away equally quietly. He was well into chopping vegetables and dumping them into the pot on the stove when Martin woke, blinking at him from across the little living room.

“You’re making me soup from scratch?”

“Of course.” Douglas raised an eyebrow in mock offense as he started in on cutting the meat. “Surely you know by now I’m good at everything and that includes cooking?”

A small snort. “It would have been hard to miss that you’re a good cook, what with you bringing me leftovers for the last month.”

Douglas froze. “I haven’t been bringing you leftovers, I’ve just been… bringing leftovers.”

“And conveniently losing at word games so you can give me the cheese tray? And buying me meals during stopovers?” Martin asked, looking at Douglas with an amazingly steady gaze for someone who still resembled a burrito made of fleece and disheveled hair.

Douglas didn’t say anything. He turned back to the stove and dumped the meat into the soup, as well as sprinkling a number of spices in.

“Douglas?” Martin said in a small voice, and Douglas turned back to him.

“How is your temperature now?” He asked, and Martin sat up, propping himself against the arm of the futon.

“Why don’t you come check?” He said, still in that same quiet, hesitant tone, and Douglas crossed the room and sank onto the floor in front of him, brushing his hair back from his forehead and feeling his flushed skin with the inside of his wrist. He didn’t miss the way Martin’s eyes closed or how he leaned into the touch.

“Do you have a thermometer somewhere?” He asked.

“On the shelf in the bathroom.”

Douglas got up again and returned with the instrument, which he handed off to Martin. As he made to turn back to the kitchen, Martin caught his hand.

“Would you sit down? Please?” he asked around the thermometer, and Douglas hadn’t the heart to tease him for it, somehow, so he complied.

Martin rearranged himself so he was leaning on Douglas’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and snuggled against him. Douglas looked down at him in bemusement for a moment before wrapping his arm around him and pulling him closer. The shuddering sigh Martin let out at the contact made the feeling in Douglas’s chest ache, and he reached with his free hand to take the thermometer back when it beeped.

“38.6 degrees. Well, that’s something.” Douglas sighed and set the thermometer down on the back of the futon. Again he had the impulse to brush Martin’s hair back, and he indulged it, smoothing his slightly sweat-dampened curls away from his face.

“Douglas?” Martin murmured against his shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Martin was silent for such a long time Douglas wondered if he’d fallen asleep against him. It wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world, but the soup was still bubbling away on the stove and Douglas was very conscious of the fact Carolyn and Arthur would be coming by at some point, so he nudged him gently. “For what?”

“Being clever, I suppose.”

“Ah.” Douglas wasn’t sure how to parse that, and he shifted a little underneath Martin’s bony weight. Martin clung on, very warm and solid against him.

“You know. Being… reliable. Fixing things.” Martin hadn’t opened his eyes but his voice had gotten a bit stronger, steadier, more alert, and Douglas wondered absently if he was feeling better or just taking advantage of a moment of greater lucidity while he had it and would soon slump back into the rather pitiful state he’d been in all morning. “You’re good at it. Taking care.”

Douglas blinked. That hadn’t been at all what he’d been expecting to hear. He ran a hand through Martin’s hair again.

“Am I?”

“’course.”

Douglas thought of his daughter, and his ex-wives, and Carolyn coming soon to look in on Martin. Martin, who deserved so much better than what he was getting, if Douglas was honest with himself. So much better than the mess of insecurity and uncertainty he’d been saddled with. Better than MJN and better than Douglas. Still, secretly, selfishly, he was glad Martin had ended up where he was, because it had brought him to his arms in this moment, and it was… nice. Holding him was nice. He pressed a brief kiss to Martin’s forehead and felt him shudder out a sigh against him.

“I should check on that soup.”

“Alright.”

But Douglas made no move to get up, and Martin made no move to pull away.


End file.
